Northstar Vale i miss you in the dawn & most of all, your fingerprints, everywhere (mtr.)

She was wild and fey and much too soon chained about him a second time; warbling, writhing beneath the refigured golem as he rode her against each portion for himself. Voyaging her ruthlessly into the marrow of his storm and Aurëwen was stricken like lightning; smothered, igneous, attempting in vain to ricochet back against the iron hold that all but kept her hips melded motionless at their post. The priest meant for her to remain strewn beneath him and weather him   again  again  again   until a tormented, timid wail winged from her raw throat, again in Mahler.

It was a calling as treacherously timid as when his lips seared her shorn cheek and welted her own name into her skin her blood her soul entire and then he savaged her; brought her to her third meridian with a broken beg ... and the syren was uncaged once more.

But Aurëwen remained.
Remained, with gusts of gale shivering through lungs that made to gobble the air as the silver longed to enact the same upon him. But though her ridden figure hummed at such a figment, she was worn so thoroughly — for now? — and instead mouthed weakly, hushedly, at the plush mauve threshing about his ears. She felt the quivering of her belly at spine; knew the mutual melt upon her thigh; and with only vague reluctance herself did she excuse herself by sneaking a nip to his cheek.

She found no trust in her deadened limbs, and likewise found no purchase upon their acclaimed altar; but the druid, wincing, still trembling, managed to work her way back into the waters all the same. She would bathe herself; wash their mutual mark from her; meander beneath the shy currents — until misted, hooded eyes peered up at him through pondwaters dribbling down her brow, her chin.

Hesitant and befogged, Aurëwen tentatively preened along the arm which trailed up from the lilies.  “I remember who I am with you,”  she murmured, gently worrying at a notched tuft upon his ashen forelimb.  “Who I am, and all that I should have been, should have done ... but can, in time, still do. Still be.”  Not the girlish, too-early mother she had come to be, with remnants of such selfishness and emotion to overwhelm, but ... who Aurëwen truly was at the cornerstone of herself.

Should he look to her, the argent eyes did not waver; and though they glinted with succubic wanting, a more greater and impending selfless, entirely sexless ideal simmered within.  “Would you like to hear ze first, evinyatar?”